


Plain Speaking

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By MJ.Two ladies from the Tuckburrow Sewing Circle discuss the facts of life.
Relationships: Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	Plain Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I have merely borrowed them for these adventures and will never make a cent from them.  
>  Story Notes: This takes place a day or so after [Family Matters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322775).

The little shop sat a good three paces off the main street of Tuckburrow, its windows filled with sunbonnets and frilly caps and gaily embroidered aprons. The afternoon was warm for September and the two middle-aged ladies lowered their shawls as they stepped out of the door, arms a'dangle with neatly wrapped packages. 

"Oh, no, Mrs. B., there's just one knot you'll _ever_ need to set up a fringe and that's Lad In the Thicket. Snugs up a treat every time! Now, got all your packages? Don't drop your ribbons, dear. You'll never get all the dust out." 

Mrs. Bargewort grabbed the little bag of multi-colored finery and pushed it firmly up her arm. "Lad In the Thicket, eh?" 

Mrs. Coddle nodded, eyeing her own array of neatly wrapped parcels once more. "Aye, it'll take a great lot of tuggin' to pull that one loose." Heaving a contented sigh, she glanced quickly right and left. No carts, no hay wagons, no stray rolling hoops followed by lalloping stray children. Perfectly safe to step across the street for a spot of tea at the Bakery. But before she could make the suggestion, her sharp glance lit upon two lads standing at the door of The Crooked Stave. Despite her age and four babes raised and grown, her heart gave a little flutter as she nudged her companion. 

"My stars and bloomers, will you see them two, Mrs. B.? Now ain't they a sight. Just as pretty a picture as ever there was one!" 

Mrs. Bargewort, her thoughts jarred away from needles, knots and stitchery, lifted her chin and squinted across the street. Her eyes widened. "Right you are, Mrs. C., right you are! Sweeter than two eggs eyes up, as my gran would say!" 

"Where d'ya 'spose they're off to? Business for the Thain, I expect." 

"That'll be it, my dear. That'll be it. Like as not he's got his young Peregrin chargin' through some bit of a mess. Find 'im a nice sweet lass that way, he might." 

Mrs. Coddle shook her head, her knowledgable eye even now taking in the well-tailored britches and fine embroidery of the snug vests. "Oh, no, no, Mrs. B! No such thing, as I see it. Just you come a bit closer, dear." A quick glance to either side and she lowered her voice. "As I see it, those two're takin' a tumble, unless I miss my guess. And I can tell you, Mrs. B., I don't often miss my guess!" 

Mrs. Bargewort wrinkled her tiny snubbed nose. "What d'ya mean, takin' a tumble?" 

"Why, just what I said." Mrs. Coddle leaned even closer and winked one deep brown eye. "Takin' a tumble like they'd been born to it!" 

"I never heard the like, Mrs. C!" Mrs. Bargewort huffed, little packages jiggling back and forth on her arm. "That Peregrin's as steady a lad as ever was made and I can't see neither of 'em dumpin' head over heels like some young'un ain't got his feet spread right!" 

"No, no, no! Not fallin' down!" Mrs. Coddle took a deep breath. "Takin' a tumble! You know!" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "A squeeze o' the privates, if I make myself clear." 

Mrs. Bargewort's eyebrows bunched up like two little caterpillers. "Eh..." Shifting from foot to foot, she appeared to have tucked the obvious question far up in one cheek. 

A whisper of exasperation escaped Mrs. Coddle's lips. "If I must speak plainer than that..." She drew in a deep breath, clear down to the bottom of her ample waist. "They're ..." She hesitated, feeling the heat in her ears, then with a great deal of effort, lowered her voice again. "They're after bellywarmin', Mrs. B. Just as sure as I'm standin' here talkin' to you!" 

Mrs. Bargewort's eyes grew as round baby turnips. "Oooo..." She glanced once more at the handsome couple, now joined by several young lads and lasses from the Smials, then blinked and gasped softly before turning back to Mrs. Coddle. "Oh, my dear Mrs. C. Those two?" 

A smug little smile brushed the corners of Mrs. Coddle's mouth. "Yes, my dear, those two." 

Mrs. Bargewort stared at her friend for a moment, then turned her fascinated gaze back to The Crooked Stave, watching in silence as the jolly group exchanged what were obviously a series of jests. Her mind now far, far away from stitchery and fringe and her mother's new shawl, she shook her head and chuckled softly. "Well, well, well. What d'you suppose they'll call the first one, eh?" 

Mrs. Coddle tilted her head, letting the question sift from one disbelieving ear to the other. "...the what?" 

"You know, dear, the first one, the first little baby?" 

Mrs. Coddle stared at her very short, very plump companion, while her brain reluctantly wrapped itself around this novel concept. Then she said slowly and carefully, "Mrs. B. They're gentlehobbits. There ain't gonna be no babies." 

"No babies?" Mrs. Bargewort cocked her head back, voice rising indignantly. "But... But Mrs. C.! Such pretty lads as all that not have babies? Why, I never! They need talkin' to, I expect." The sprawl of curls under her cap bounced in sympathetic annoyance. 

"Mrs. B..." 

"Their Paps'll want grandbabies, not just a rusty barrow of excuses! Why, I've half a mind..." 

Yes, indeed. Mrs. Coddle snorted and grabbed hold of Mrs. Bargewort's arm, pulling her quickly round and back to the door of the little shop. 

"They're gentlehobbits!" she hissed. "They can't have babies! Why would you think..." She froze and stared at Mrs. Bargewort through narrowed eyes. "My dear Mrs. B. You've been a married woman. Whatever gave you the idea that two young lads..." Still staring, she thought a moment, her face clearing. "Wait a minute. Exactly how long were you married?" 

"Why, just the one night..." 

Mrs. Coddle mentally gripped herself, drew in a deep breath and sighed all the way down. "But didn't you never...? Didn't he ever...? You ain't got any idea, have you?" 

Mrs. Bargewort's cheeks now sported a bright pink patch each. "Well, I guess I know the basics. But, you see, when Mr. Bargewort was on his way home from the pub, the night we was married, he tripped on his own two feet. Hit his head on the pony trough, died right there, he did." She pondered a moment. "Never did ken what he was shoutin' at the time." 

Mrs. Coddle swallowed, firmed her resolve, and asked, "And what was that, dear?" 

Tilting her head to one side, Mrs. Bargewort thought for a second, then said slowly, "It was somethin' like: 'Hold on, my little dish 'o spring figs. I've got a great big spoon all ready to eat you up.'" She nodded slowly. "Aye, that was it." 

Mrs. Coddle bit her bottom lip, strong thoughts of tea laced with Brandywine Mist playing tag round her brain. "So. You and he never _really_... Well! I mean to say, you never been, eh, tumbled then. Have you?" 

Shaking her head slowly, Mrs. Bargewort fluttered a free hand. "No, not really. Does it matter?" 

Carefully unclenching her teeth, Mrs. Coddle managed to smile. "In this case, Mrs. B, I think it does. One day, we'll have a nice chat, just you and me and a jar of figs." 

"Yes, dear." 

As they both turned round once more, the little group across the street split up, the two pretty young lads setting off arm in arm towards the warren of Great Smials. Mrs. Bargewort watched until they were out of sight, then sighed softly, her round face grown happy and complacent once again. "I'd still like to know what they'll call the first one." 

"The first...!" Mrs. Coddle floundered a moment, then drew herself up as tall as she could, ample bosom heaving. "Mrs. B..." 

"Got lots o' names to choose from on the Brandybuck side alone, don't they?" 

"Yes. Yes, indeed. I suppose they do." Mrs. Coddle quickly shoved her packages around until they were all securely draped from one arm. "I tell you what, Mrs. B. We'll just have to wait for the announcement, won't we?" Grabbing Mrs. Bargewort's arm, she set off briskly up the street. "In the meantime, you be thinkin' about names, dear. Just in case they'll be needin' a bit of help up at Great Smials. But right now, you and me is gonna have a nice hot cup'a tea. Hold your bonnet, dear!" A quick turn and up a tree-shaded lane they went. "And we're gonna get that fig jar and that spoon and we're gonna talk about what goes where, and when, and why there ain't gonna be no babies..." Mrs. Coddle took her own front steps two at a time, Mrs. Bargewart gasping along sturdily behind her. "...neither in your lifetime nor mine!" One stout shove and Mrs. B. was launched over the threshold into the sitting room, packages whapping madly right and left. "And I dare say you'll understand, likely before your second cup'a tea, just why that knot's called Lad In the Thicket!" 

End.


End file.
